


Especially the Desserts

by RembrandtsWife



Category: Captain America (Movies), Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comfort Food, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7338457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/RembrandtsWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bread pudding, hot chocolate, and someone who understands nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Especially the Desserts

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the wonderful world of Leverage/MCU crossovers. Thanks again to [DizzyRedhead](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead) for awesome beta skills.
> 
> I am [rembrandtswife](http://rembrandtswife.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, and I love OT3s.

"I know him," Eliot said, his voice even lower and thicker than usual. "I've *fought* him. There's no way I can beat him."

Parker tapped the handwritten ticket. "He just wants a cheeseburger and double fries. And a milkshake, can we do a milkshake?"

* * *

"I don't do that any more. I don't work for Them."

The blue-grey eyes Eliot remembered were surprisingly warm. They met his gaze, then flickered away in what he would have called shyness, in anybody else. Maybe it was shyness.

"I just need a place to stay for a while. A safe place." The other man licked his lips, slowly. "I heard you help people that nobody else can help."

Eliot had a very clear memory of those eyes, cold and slow-moving as glaciers, with a focus it had been impossible to break. And the gleaming silver arm with a red star. This man had silver fingertips, a silver wrist, under long sleeves and a black leather fingerless glove, but his eyes… they really were the eyes of a different person.

* * *

"The Winter. Soldier," Hardison said, for the fourth time.

"Would you stop saying that? You're a hacker, not a, a wind-up toy that talks." Eliot twiddled his fingers at the keyboard. "Hack into his records. Find out what's up."

"He's really good at lifting heavy stuff," Parker said. "And he's quiet. And he did say he needed help."

* * *

"Hydra. Russians. Hydra." Hardison buried his face in his hands and moaned dramatically. "Not to mention the little detail that he’s Captain America's long-lost BFF! Eliot, we can't--"

"Yeah, we can. At least for a while." He looked out the kitchen door toward the corner where their unexpected guest sat, eating bread pudding and drinking his coffee black. "Because somebody oughta."

* * *

The apartment had a guest bedroom that was always ready for use in case Parker or Eliot needed a night sleeping alone. Hardison only used it when he had a bad cold or the flu and didn't want to sneeze and cough all over the other two. The man with the metal arm put his backpack down on the bed and looked around like he'd just walked into a luxury suite--or onto a battlefield.

"What d'you like to be called, bro?" Hardison tried--and failed--to sound casual.

"My name is Bucky," the Winter Soldier said.

* * *

He was good at lifting heavy shit, that's for sure. Eliot paid him under the table to receive and unpack shipments. He was polite with the customers and precise with the invoices, and literally nothing was too heavy for him to handle. He could probably lift a goddamned car if he could get the right grip. And he made a good bouncer, too, which meant Eliot could keep his mind on the kitchen.

He ate most of his meals at the brewpub. Parker invited him to eat with them in the apartment, but he refused, with an apologetic smile. Eliot refused to charge him, even though he ate almost twice what a regular man would eat. Fast metabolism, Eliot guessed, powering all that muscle and speed. He seemed to really enjoy his food; the few times he struck up a conversation with Eliot, it was about something on the menu. He had a terrific sweet tooth and never skipped dessert.

* * *

Eliot still didn't sleep well some nights. You could drug yourself into submission, or you could just accept that sometime the things you'd seen and done would keep you up at night. He preferred acceptance and a clean sleep when he could get it.

So he knew what those noises from the guest bedroom meant when he heard them. He was taking a piss the first time he heard them; he waited in the hall between the bathroom and the guest room for a minute or two before heading back to bed. The three of them hadn't tried to disguise the fact that they all slept together; Bucky hadn't asked any questions or even showed any interest.

A few nights later, he had one of his own bad dreams, a Moreau dream, and knew he'd have to sit the rest of the night out. He found Barnes sitting on the couch, running his right hand up and down, up and down the gleaming metal plates of his left arm, with his teeth chattering loud enough to be heard.

Eliot paused, thought of saying something, and changed his mind. Instead, he went straight for the kitchen, whipped up two cups of hot chocolate with plenty of nutmeg and vanilla, and heated two slices of the leftover pecan pie in the microwave. Fresh whipped cream over everything, serve to a shaking supersoldier in shock. 

Bucky went after the pie like a starving wolf after fresh meat. By the time he reached for the hot chocolate, he was shaking a lot less.

"I thought about leaving. Running." He spoke almost into his mug, face hidden by his hair. "Thought about--ending it, too."

Eliot nodded, hoping the other man saw it. Sipped his own hot chocolate and let it do its work before he said anything else.

"I know where you are," Eliot said. "I been there. I'd still be there, if it weren't for them." He flicked a glance toward the bedroom. "You got anybody?"

Emotions passed through Bucky's face like debris rolling by just under the surface of a river. He licked his lips. "I dunno. Maybe."

Eliot nodded. He could guess some of what lay behind that uncertainty--the whole freakish history of two men born in the Twenties, alive now almost a hundred years later and separated for decades. "Well, right now, you got us. You got me." He caught and held Bucky's eyes. "Understood?"

"Yeah." Bucky ducked his head, licking his lips again. Eliot decided to take his chance.

Moving slowly, he raised his hand to cup Bucky's face, letting his fingertips slide across the thick scruff, trace the line of his jaw. Bucky held still, letting Eliot smooth back his hair and tuck one lock behind his ear, then touch their foreheads together for a moment before lining up their mouths.

Bucky didn't move as Eliot kissed him, but the fine tremors Eliot had noticed gradually stopped. Eliot pulled back a little, to look at Bucky's face and stroke back his hair again. A tiny smile crooked Bucky's full lips, and he leaned in to kiss Eliot this time, his lips working softly. Eliot let his hand stroke down over jaw and neck, shoulder and arm--Bucky's right arm--across the hard sculpted muscles of his chest down to his belly, pausing with his fingertips just over the button of Bucky's jeans.

Bucky breathed something into Eliot's mouth that wasn't a no, shifting his hips forward on the couch. Eliot pushed up Bucky's henley and popped the button, let his fingers scratch through soft curling belly hair. Bucky pushed up a little bit, groaned as Eliot drew down the zipper over an already thickening cock. That was good--Eliot hadn't been a hundred percent sure he could get that kind of response even if Bucky was willing. 

He slipped his hand into Bucky's jeans and palmed him through his briefs. Bucky whimpered, thrusting up against the pressure, yet he didn't say anything, ask for anything. He didn't move as much as Eliot expected, either. Eliot kissed him again, parted lips, along his jaw, and pulled down the cotton briefs to find his hot, damp cock nestled among thick curls. He wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed, making Bucky shudder violently.

Eliot pressed his mouth to Bucky's ear. "It's okay, pal. It's okay. You can let go. I gotcha."

Bucky's mouth sought his and latched on hungrily. Eliot stroked up, down, up again, humming against Bucky's lips. The tremors were back, rippling through Bucky's abs, jerking his hips into Eliot's rhythm, shaking his heavy thighs. With Eliot coaxing him, he rode the tremors until they pulled his head back and it spilled out of him, harsh sobs stretching his mouth as he spurted in Eliot's hand.

"I gotcha," Eliot repeated, "I gotcha," and slid his free arm around Bucky. Bucky buried his face in Eliot's shoulder and wept.

* * *

"I think I better move on."

Eliot nodded. He had felt that coming for about a month now; Bucky's jitters, a few firewall attacks that looked unusually suspicious (not that Hardison hadn't fended them off), a couple of guys hanging around the brewpub that made the hair go up on the back of his neck, even though they hadn't asked any questions.

"I got the documents you made for me," Bucky nodded to Alec, "some honest money I earned. I sleep better now. And I don't want to get you folks in trouble when you've been so good to me."

"Where will you go?" Parker asked. Bucky looked off into the distance.

"I'm thinking Europe. Spent a lot of time there, know it better than I do my own country, now. I know how to stay out of the way, there. Maybe Romania."

"You speak Romanian?" Eliot asked, in that language. "Bucharest is nice."

"Yes, my Romanian is pretty good. Bucharest, huh?"

"They got some great food there," Eliot said.

Two days later Bucky came down to the kitchen carrying a duffel bag and a knapsack. Hardison shook his hand. "Stay strong, man, good luck."

Parker threw herself at him in a hug. "You should find your friend. When you're ready." 

Bucky gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I will. When I'm ready."

He turned to Eliot, eyeballed him for a second, then hugged him, too. "Thanks, man. For everything. Especially the desserts."

Eliot grinned. "Any time, Buck. And good luck."

Bucky touched his fingers to his cap and slipped out the back door of the kitchen, not saying good-bye.


End file.
